Archive for the ‘Madness’ Category

There was a sudden wash of sensation, a wave that traveled through the President’s body and made him shiver slightly as all the stress of the situation suddenly melted away. He wanted to panic, knowing full well that this wasn’t a natural feeling, but the ability to panic simply wasn’t there anymore. Everything was simple, cold, logical.
He turned to look at the other leaders at the table and saw similar reactions happening in the English Prime Minister, the Russian and French Presidents, even the Saudi could be seen arching his back awkwardly as doubtlessly that same chill that he’d just experienced crawled up his spine.
“Everyone stop,” the President said. “The food has been drugged.”
All eyes went to the plates in front of them, calm and cold, then to the American.
“I dare say, I think you’re right,” the Englishman said. “What is the meaning of this?”
As though on queue, the door opened and men in suits began to enter the room. At first, it was easy to mistake them for the American Secret Service, each wearing a black suit, sunglasses and an earpiece, but it was their apparent leader that gave them away.
The man who entered in the middle of the dozen bodies was diminutive, no more than four feet tall, clad in the same black suit as the others, accented with a black woolen overcoat and wide brimmed fidora that concealed his features. The briefcase in his hand seemed to be nearly half his size.
“What is meaning of this,” the Russian demanded, flatly and unable to muster his usual bravado.
The suited men retrieved a chair and a small folding table, setting them up in the middle of the delegation without a sound for the tiny man to sit and set his briefcase down.
“This,” the small man began in a voice that seemed to resonate all on its own. “This is an unfortunate necessity.”
The world leaders murmured quietly among themselves.
“Explain yourself sir,” the Englishman demanded.
The briefcase clicked open as the short man spoke, his hands pulling out manilla folders that were then distributed among the delegates by his larger counterparts.
“I represent an organization which, until August of 1974, was a clandestine but essential part of your governments. We are in charge of handling affairs outside the scope of your offices, but thanks to the actions of one drunken president showing off privileged intelligence to his actor friend, determined it best until now to remain behind the scenes.”
The short mans features had been obscured by his wide brimmed hat, but as he removed it the room went so silent you could hear a feather fall.
His eyes were almond shaped and too large for any human, strange bone ridges under the skin make his eyebrows jut out, his nose was so small it was scarcely even there at all.
“What are you,” asked the French President.
“A hybrid. Part human, part what you would call ‘gray alien’,” the hybrid said matter of factly.
The room chuckled weakly.
“This is nonsense, you expect us to believe that you’re some kind of alien hybrid working for a secret organization that exists outside of our governments,” the American said through his weak laughter.
The small hybrid did not share their amusement.
‘If I wasn’t, then how can you all hear me now?’ The words came without speech, every person in the room hearing the words even though his mouth never moved.
The laughter stopped.
“Why drug us,” the Russian asked.
“Because humans are irrational and violent,” the hybrid stated. “When confronted by something you don’t understand, one of your first reactions are either to combat it or flee from it. Fight or flight. I needed you all composed for this meeting.”
“And this meeting regards…” the Englishman probed.
“In July of 1947, a craft crashed on your planet. It was not the first time, but it was the first time there was a survivor. When his people came to collect him, they entered negotiations with various governments and created The Accord, a treaty between governments of Earth and those visitors. In exchange for advanced technologies, our guests would be allowed open access to the airspace over the member countries as well as the freedom to…borrow…members of the population for study and conduct various other experiments,” the hybrid said, his tone very plain and matter of fact about the entire affair.
“So, why the secrecy? Why were you only involved with us until 1974,” the American asked.
The hybrids unusually long fingers drummed on the table idly.
“Because Richard Nixon revealed secrets about us to his friend, Jackie Gleason. We couldn’t risk additional exposure, and so we simply stopped informing leaders that we existed,” the small man said, now looking a little weary. “Gentlemen, madam, I’m not here to give you a history lesson.”
The hybrids fingers steepled.
“Part of The Accord states that you are forbidden from firing on any visiting craft or autopsying any bodies discovered. Until a week ago, we had managed to insure that this clause was never breached. But somehow, our orders were…overruled…and a craft was fired upon, crashed, and it’s crew are now missing.”
His hands went to the briefcase once more, gingerly pulling out what could only be some type of alien firearm and set it on the table in front of him.
“My question, lady and gentlemen, is simple. Which one of you idiots just started an Interstellar War?”

I’ve been suffering a truly devastating creative drought since my last post, a case of writers block that just won’t quit.

I have lots of stuff I could write, projects I could work on, but the fuel for the fires just isn’t there.

I am frustrated beyond all description.

There are days where I wake up and just ask myself, ‘What’s the point?’
Days where I just look at the vast catalog of unfinished projects, unrealized ideas and the daunting grind of making ends meet and wonder why I even bother trying to execute all the things running around my head.

I read over stuff I’ve written and find it shallow, contrite and derivative. I look at art projects and crafts and only see glaring flaws that flash ‘failure’ like neon vegas signs.
I wonder why I even bother.

It’s a constant struggle, and one that I frequently lose.

Today, I’m losing.

And I hate myself for it.

All I’ve ever really wanted was to write, to be successful at it. It’s always been a dream, to create things from the chaos in my own mind and mold them into something that will inspire others, create dreams, generate fantasies. I want to make people throw my book across the room when a character dies, only to race back over to it and keep reading because they want revenge. I want people to fall in love, to yearn for the moment where they can be the perfect voyeur on a single perfect moment between two people. I want to make them cry.

Today, all I’m doing it fighting to keep myself from crying, because I feel like I’ll never be good enough.

4-2-14
6:55am

Welcome to Southern California where if we have anything other than sunny 80 degree days, all hell breaks loose.

Where the hell do I even start?

We lost power for several hours yesterday, lightning strike took out a major transformer or something. Radio reports are saying that this storm came out of nowhere, and that all the indicators said that such a storm shouldn’t be sustainable, let alone growing. And it is growing, apparently at a ‘frightening rate’. Most of California and Oregon are covered in it now, it’s expected to hit Washington, Nevada and Utah later today.
Elizabeth’s boss called last night and told her to stay home until things get better.
Lexy’s school is canceled because of the hazard.
The Emergency Broadcast Signal is going off every fifteen minutes with flash flood warnings, high surf advisories, mud slide evacuation instructions…
There have been six ‘serious’ slides in the past twenty four hours.
Streets are flooding.

But I still need to go to work.
I shit you not.

Weird side note from yesterday: I don’t know if I just missed it or something, but there were a couple of lightning strikes that didn’t have thunder. I mean, they HAD to have thunder right? You can’t have lightning without thunder, its the way nature works, but I swear there were four or five strikes yesterday where there weren’t. I mean, I guess I could’ve missed them…fifty mile an hour winds can get pretty loud…but one of the strikes was only a block from the shop, I should’ve heard that one.

8:20am

The storm is starting to mess with the radio, must be all the electricity in the air, or that LIGHTNING HIT THE DAMN ROAD 20 YARDS FROM ME ON THE WAY TO WORK. I’m still shaking from that. Winds are really kicking up an causing the clouds to move really oddly, makes some really strange shadows. Creepy.

11:55pm
Massive evacuations underway.
Laguna Beach, Newport and most coastal cities are being emptied.
EBS isn’t saying why, but most people are assuming mud slides, or something to do with that 8.2 Chilean earthquake. All that’s for sure is that all hell is breaking loose.
The storm had already reached Stateline, and there’s talks of widespread evacuations of many desert towns because of fears of Flash flooding.
Radios continue to have weird interference, and cable is out.
I’ll be amazed if the network holds up for this to get posted.

2:04pm
Roads are being closed, cops are telling people to stay inside.
More lightning without thunder, the girls at the flowershop have noticed it too.
Think we just had an aftershock from the La Habra quake last week, the whole floor rumbled. We thought it was a low helicopter at first, but all air traffic has been grounded.
What the hell is going on?

2:10pm
Cops just told us we are being evacuated to higher ground and away from the hills.
‘We don’t care where you go, just get to higher ground.’
WTF?
Cell network is down. I can’t reach my wife or my kid. Running on WiFi right now. Can anyone let me know if they’re okay?

5:52pm

Wife and daughter are safe, getting home took every bit of street lore that I have.
Elizabeth insists she saw something moving in the clouds. She had a lot of trouble describing it, clouds obscured the view, but she insists it was there.

4-1-14
6:55am

Woke up to rain today, a heavy torrential downpour that I vaguely recall hearing begin last night after we went to bed. Between that and Edison’s snorting, wheezing, protests at realizing he was going to have to get walked in it made for an interesting start to my day. Thank god for coffee, right? Even while driving Elizabeth to work we were hard pressed to see at certain points during the 15 mile drive down to her office in Capistrano. The drive back was even more eventful since people in Southern California can’t drive in a light mist, let alone a god damn torrent like what is outside right now. I saw cars hydroplane and spin more than once, and pointedly made sure to keep myself to the side and moving at no more than 50mph the whole way back home.

Had to ‘Alarm Pug’ Lex to get her out of bed, but when she got up and heard the storm she was grinning. She loves the rain.

The storm is going to complicate work, doing delivery driving in the rain is a big enough pain, but when it’s flowers…uhg.

I doubt I’ll be making any money today at all.

7:21am

Oh great, now there’s thunder and lightning.
Awesome.

8:46am
Jesus Christ! So, dropped off Lex at school and somehow managed to make it to work without getting killed. Damn California drivers, I swear.
I think the storm has actually gotten worse, and the thunder constantly sounds like it’s directly overhead, no matter how far off the lightning is.

9:30am
I’ve been watching the clouds while my orders are getting prepped, gun metal gray masses wrapped in velvet black. This roiling, churning, ebon morass hanging over our head. I can’t believe people are ordering flowers in this shit..

Hey people, so we are going to try an experiment.

As mentioned in a previous post, I’m going to try my hand at a epistolary novel. I’m not going to give you any spoilers, except that it is going to be sci-fi/survival/horror based.
Any time you see a post marked [Storm Wardens], make sure you check back periodically throughout the day for additional edits throughout the day as our intrepid hero chronicles his journey.

Basically, this is something I’m going to be writing and dictating in my downtime while I’m at work. Partly because I want to, partly because it’ll keep me sane on super slow days.

So, remember, if you see a post from me marked [Storm Wardens] to check back frequently to keep abreast of the story as it unfolds!

Oh yeah, it’s going to be that kind of post.

Evangelicals / Atheists

Dear God/Satan/Flying Spaghetti Monster/Yaweh/Buddah/Vishnu/Non-Existent Entity,

Please, please, please, SHUT UP.

No, seriously, you all need to stop. All of you. When every other post from you is about how great god is, or how you think anyone who believes in a God is an idiot, you accomplish exactly two things: You establish that you’re an asshole and YOU FUCKING ANNOY ME.

To my Evangelical (I use this term strictly as a broad stroke of anyone devote of faith) friends, we get it. You have a deep and profound relationship with your higher power, but I swear to fuck some of you need to check your god damned privilege and realize that not everyone is the same fucking faith as you. If you want to spout off about what a ‘miracle it is that XY happened’, save it for your church/temple/synagogue/place of worship or learn to use some god damn Facebook filters. If you want to congratulate me on something, a simple ‘Congratz’ will suffice, I assure you. I don’t need you telling me how ‘blessed’ I am.

To my Atheist friends, STFU. No. Seriously. STFU.
Every time you post how ‘anyone who believes in an invisible sky father is an idiot’, you’re calling me, my wife and my child an idiot.  This doesn’t make you right, nor does it make you insightful or edgy, it makes you a fucking asshole. Every time you rail on Christians, you rail on my wife and my child who do not espouse or believe in the dumbass shit you’re pissed off about that some backwoods ass yokel motherfucker in an aluminum shed church said. My wife and daughter are GOOD Christians, who believe in acceptance and love and NOT BEING SHITTY PEOPLE. Because, you know, that’s what Christianity is really about. Every time you go on one of your ‘God/Christians/Faith is Bullshit’ rants just makes me want to punch you in the mouth, and I like most of you, so I don’t want to…but you’re making it REALLY hard not to. See above regard appropriate places/filters for such things.

Understand, I’m Jew…ish. I’m closer to Agnostic with Jewish Tendencies. I was raised Jewish, but I saw that even MY FAMILIAL FAITH can be turned dark, and that turned me off on it. I haven’t been to services in years, I only go to Family Holiday Events because I’m expected to, and it’s free delicious food. I absolutely believe there MAY be a Higher Power, I just don’t know who/what it is, as such I’m lo to belittle anyones belief system, even yours. But fuck me, guys, come on. All of you could learn to show a little god damn respect and common fucking sense.

Also, it makes you an asshole.

Dear Inconsiderate Motherfuckers That Drive 3 Inches From My Tailpipe,

FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING SELF IMPORTANT WEASLE HUMPING SLAG BRAINED MORONS.

I’m a delivery driver, as such I frequently have shit in my car that can get ruined if I take a turn too fast or have to break suddenly such as flowers, food, my wife and my 11 year old little girl. I also do something called, ‘Following The Fucking Law’ and don’t drive 60mph in a god damn 40mph zone, regardless of how far it is between stop lights. I have zero accidents and zero moving violations on my record, because I’m not a self important fuck weasel. I drive my car for a living, to help make ends meet for my family and because I genuinely enjoy it. I also drive better than YOU DO. Every time one of you egomaniacal fucktards tailgate me, then swing around and gun the engine on your car, I hope (silently) that you crash and end up like Paul Walker, because you’re going to one day.

I would also like to add that PICK UP TRUCKS ARE NOT FUCKING SPORTS CARS AND IF YOU DRIVE A TRUCK LIKE IT IS A WRX YOU DESERVE THE WRECK YOU GET INTO.

Like this guy.

Seriously, just stop.

The next one of you who posts another god damn faulty infographic or internet meme about Obama is getting kicked in the fucking head.

Yes, I’m dead serious about this.

Boot. To. The. Head.

Barack Obama is not a Muslim, and even if he was it is permissible under the Freedom of Religion…because, you know, America?
Barack Obama is not Hitler, when he kills 6 million members of a particular ethnic/religious minority and begins executing political prisoners/homosexuals/homeless/gypsies, then we can talk. Until then, Hitler is Hitler, and fuck you for degrading an atrocity that afflicted MILLIONS of people just for shock value you stupid fuck.
Barack Obama is not a Communist, that was Stalin and Putin. See above.
Barack Obama is not a Socialist, that was Mussolini. See above.
Barack Obama is not the Antichrist.

Just shut the fuck up, admit that either you really don’t like his policies, democrats or that you just hate that we have a black president that isn’t named Morgan Freeman and move the fuck on.

See what I did there?

Not every off-color statement about those who share your sexual preference is homophobic/transphobic/purple monkey-phobic.

It’s not.

You’re annoying.

STFU.

PEOPLE ARE ASSHOLES. THEY’RE NOT AFRAID OF YOU, THEY’RE JUST BIGOTED FUCKHEADS.

Also, just because some celeb calls a paparazzi a ‘cocksucker’ doesn’t mean they’re bigoted, it means they were pissed off and used a word.

For gods sake, my LGBT friends and cohorts, PICK YOUR FUCKING BATTLES.
If all you do is focus on, ‘OMFG SOANDSO SAID THIS AND THEN HEANDHE DID THAT AND WE SHOULD PROTEST ALL THE THINGS’ all you do is set the movement back because now the world doesn’t take you seriously.

Oh, and you’re probably as much an asshole as the dumbshit you’re frenzying over.

And before any of you claim I ‘don’t know or understand’ what I’m talking about:

  • One of the Groomsmen at my wedding was a gay man, who has been in a loving relationship with his husband longer than most of my friends relationships combined.
  • A dearly departed friend of mine for over 10 years was a Lesbian, whom I introduced to the woman who would’ve been her wife.
  • Roughly two dozen of my friends identify as LGBTQ+.
  • I have multiple LGBT family members.

Am I gay or LGBT?
No.
But I’ve been in and an ally to the movement since before most of you knew what the term ‘activism’ meant. So, please, STFU.

 

At this point, I’m sure I could rant more, but I have to be up at 4:45am, so I’m calling it a day.

We heard it again today, that low droning noise that knocked out our communication with Huston for hours on end.

Humans truly have no scope of the sheer size of the universe, nor for the unfathomable ocean of blackness that stretches between heavenly bodies.

Things that seem so close, even within our own solar system, can take months or even years to reach by any man made craft. But when the human mind is finally confronted with the vast abyss between planets, and then try to compare that to the virtual infinite night between stars, we just can’t process it.

We, as a species, can not fathom being so small.

That is why when we first saw them in 2009, we couldn’t understand. The first time we saw them, truly saw them, was in imagery from the Cassini and Hubble telescopes. An infrared silhouette just outside the outer most ring of Saturn. We called it an ‘outgassing’ of one of the larger bodies within the rings, dust and ice refracting light and causing the line just outside the rings. Then the Helio Observatory caught another image in 2012. A shadow, just on the rim of the sun, sucking in plasma like a vacuum. We tried to reason it away, calling it a ‘coronal cavity’ or ‘plasma cooling event’. We could only see a slight edge, and already we knew the shadow was bigger than our entire world. We buried our heads, reasoned it away, and never thought of it again. The objects we were seeing were bigger than anything conceivable to the human mind, things bigger than entire continents. Bigger than our Moon. Bigger than Earth.

It was…impossible.

In 2014, the Europa Races began. It was quiet at first, but word began to slip that we were bypassing our old fixation with our closest neighbor, Mars, in favor of going to one of the frozen moons of Jupiter. Over the next decade, we saw a surge in the dwindling space program. The Second Cold War was grinding into motion, pitting us against the Allied Eastern Bloc of Russia, China, Syria and Iran.

We saw them again in our own sky, or at least their shadow, when the moon went dark for fifteen minutes. Again, we scrambled for a rational explanation. A massive, previously undetected asteroid crossing at just the right angle. A coronal mass ejection that darkened the sun just enough.
Something.
Anything.

China was the first to launch, the combined manpower of a million workers with the greatest minds of the rest of the Allied Eastern Bloc propelled them into the heavens and streaking towards Jupiter. The world watched, every day, as the AEB broadcast the reports and messages of the crew. It would take them two years to reach Jupiter, but it never arrived. The signal, terminating midstream, eighteen months into the journey.

We found the chinese ship yesterday. Their craft hidden, unmarked and undamaged, on the other side of Ganymede.
There was no one inside.

We can only assume their encounters have been similar to ours. I don’t know if you can hear any of this, if it will ever reach you, but I have to try.

We are so very small.

We caught our first real look at them, a clear image, last week after we lost contact. They were rising out of Jupiter’s atmosphere, the wisps of gas clouds leaving tendrils that seemed to stick to the hull. When the light catches it just right, it twinkles in colors that I have no words to describe.

I can scarcely say whether they notice us at all, or if they do, if we are but little more than an amusing afterthought as one would have looking at a puppy or even an insect that was investigating us. How dim and simple we must seem, little more than grunting animals that have learned to hurl themselves brutally into the void where these beings glide and dance.

I have seen them stop, suddenly, while traveling at speeds we can not fathom. Turn and spin in ways that defy every known law.

How can we even begin to dream that we could, even one day, be likened unto them? How can we dare?

Hollister cut his own throat this morning after rambling of how we were trespassing among Gods. McKenzie hasn’t left the barracks in two days, saying that even glimpsing them causes her eyes to throb and a stabbing pain in her temples. She talks in her sleep, as though being asked questions, but I can rarely make out her murmured words. Is this what happened to the Chinese? Did those brave men and women simply go mad at this revelation, or was it something else? Did they take them, and now realize exactly how truly simple we are and now do not even bother to acknowledge us?

I’ve been staring at one of them for hours now, here in the command module. It has simply been sitting, silent and unmoving. We feel no pull of gravity, the nearby moons and stellar debris seem as oblivious to its presence as it is to theirs.

Is it even metal? The twinkle and shimmer of those bizarre colors seem almost crystalline, yet the shell is opaque and seems as solid as  the moons it hovers around.

I get the feeling they are looking at us now. Assessing. Wondering. As though they somehow know I’m talking about them, like when your ears burn when someone elsewhere speaks ill of you. Can they understand awe? Do they even have a concept for it anymore? Could we even communicate with such beings? Would we truly want to? We have been trying. Broadcasting sequences of prime numbers, complex mathematics, patterns of lights, even ‘Hello, we come in peace’, but we are only ever answered in silence.

I’ve been so lost in this that I didn’t notice the warning lights. The proximity warning. One is directly above us now, maybe only thirty feet from our ship. We felt nothing as it approached. It’s like I could reach out and touch it, as though we were hung from the bottom of the world like a toy rocket. But now I feel a sense of dread. An annoyance at we tiny things who dare to look where we ought not.

I think it won’t be long unt-

Y U EVEN EXIST?!

Daylight Savings Time, that magical time of year where because some farmers 200 years ago needed more time to plant and harvest so they make us all suffer. You know, with the advent of modern technology, or the fact that we’re not an agriculture based society anymore, you’d think we could STOP FUCKING WITH THE CLOCK TWICE A YEAR.
But no, every year I get my designated ‘sleep in’ day where we ‘gain’ an hour and later on we get the designated ‘try not to crash your car because you’re half asleep’ week because we lost an hour. It’s always the change at this time of the year that sucks the worst, as though your soul has been hooked by some kind of ethereal beast from beyond our scope of reality and is slowly wrenching it from your body. It is, quite possibly, the worst thing ever.

What’s worse is when you’re trying to adjust and outside factors make that more difficult. Take, for example, my adorable 17lb problem.

Hello. I’ll be keeping you up an extra 3 hours tonight. This evening, I will be singing you the song of my people; The Snort Grunt Wheeze Concerto #7.

Tesla.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the little shit. He easily has the most personality and charisma of any dog, cat, rodent or other mammal of questionable legal status that I’ve ever owned. He’s super energetic for his breed, leaping across couches, playing fetch and tear assing through the house at random. He’s shown none of the hereditary defects of the breed, and pretty much the only thing physically ‘wrong’ with him is that he only has one nut.

But he loves that nut, and it must be kept pristine and sparkling.
And the best time to do that is at night. With the lights off. While I’m trying to fall the fuck to sleep!

Imagine if you will, you’re laying down after a long day, partner at your side, eyes slowly drifting closed when this 17lb fun ball jumps onto your bed.
Not just any spot will do for him, oh no, he MUST sit between your outstretched legs and typically with his head on your crotch. But tonight is different. Soon, this horrendous, obscene noise makes your eyes slowly creak open.

Did a pipe clog? Is there a lion with a freshly killed zebra on my floor? Is there some kind of sentient ooze monster creeping down my wall?

No, no, it’s the fucking dog, licking himself.

It’s like a pack of T-Rex’s with cottonmouth are dining on the carcass of Fat Bastard from Austin Powers right between my knees.
Now, obviously this isn’t an easy job and requires some degree of bending. So what does he do?
USE ME FOR LEVERAGE BY DIGGING HIS DAMN PUGGY DEATH TALONS INTO MY LEG AND SHOVING MY LEGS INTO A POSITION CONVENIENT FOR HIM.

Oh, I try moving him, pushing him away or stopping him. But nothing can stop The Great Ball Cleansing.

*Sigh*

“Sounds like the noises I make when I suck the marrow from children’s bones!”

On another note, Wifey discovered Creepypasta yesterday.

From what she told me, she found a dramatic reading of The Russian Sleep Experiment on Buzzfeed or similar. Needless to say, she was displeased, but like a car wreck, she could not look away.
I’m not going to lie, my inner sadist got a giggle out of that.

I’ve actually considered trying to write some Creepypasta. Given my love of good old HPL, this shouldn’t come as a real surprise. I’ll be doing some research on it today.
And then testing the writing on my wife.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…

I’m pretty sure she’ll add more expletives, but that’ll be the gist. 

It’s that time again…

I SWEAR I DIDN’T KNOW THAT BEEF STEW AND BLASTED CHICKEN WERE SUMMONING COMPONENTS!

I love my job.
I love taking care of my family and making sure that my girls have whatever it they need to go out into the world and want for nothing.
Need clean chonies? Done.
Living room cleaned up before and after guests come over? Cake walk.
Dinner prepared? CROCK POTTED LIKE A BOSS!

But the fridge…oh the fridge…

Everyone has that ONE chore they dread doing, that one thing that they just have to suck it up and power through, no matter what.
Shits gotta get done, right?

The fridge is the bane of my existence, and it’s my own damn fault because I’m too generous.
I cook in bulk. >.<

Hey, don’t pass judgment, you try feeding yourself, a wife and an 11 year old whose stomach is bigger on the inside. So, I cook in bulk to generate enough to feed us the night of, as well as produce tasty leftovers for the wifes lunches and for our ‘Fend’ nights (Leftovers Nights).

The problem is that not everything gets eaten…

iPhone Snapshot of what I saw in my fridge this morning. They were upset that I interrupted their poker game.

The result of this is that, roughly once a month, I open my fridge and am exposed to mind-shattering new vistas of reality.
The contents of the tupperware containers of a thousands years align, opening a portal to unknown and terrifying space.
Things. Blink. At. Me.

I’ve already kissed my wife good-bye and ferried her to safety, and soon I shall do the same with my daughter.
Then, I will open the portal. I know not if I shall return, or what state I shall be in if I do, but I know that this sacrifice must be made for the good of all.

Avenge me should I fall.